


Last Sacrifice

by Center_of_the_Galaxy



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian is a Good Friend, Hard to be the Herald, Multi, Protective Iron Bull, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Inquisitor is Overwhelmed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17043314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Center_of_the_Galaxy/pseuds/Center_of_the_Galaxy
Summary: Varric had summoned it up best, "Every good story ends with the hero dying."Despite all her friends, and her newfound love with a certain dashing commander, Evelyn Trevelyan was starting to believe it.





	1. Fall

* * *

 

_“_ _Let the blade pass through the flesh,_

_Let my blood touch the ground,_

_Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.”_

_—Andraste 7:12_

* * *

 

 

Varric knows what the others do not. He’s a writer so over the years, he’s honed his observation skills. You’d be surprised how much a twitch of the lips or a glance of the eyes can tell about what a person is thinking or feeling. Normally, he uses these skills to create better characters for his readers, but sometimes, he finds that these skills can be more a curse than a blessing.

He can see the pain that the Inquisitor is failing miserably at hiding. The way her smiles never light up her eyes or the fact that it takes her longer to speak, as if she’s carefully puzzling over her words because they might be her last. She’s afraid of the end—Varric has written enough stories to know what happens to heroes after the great battle. She’s convinced she’s going to die and Varric wishes he could tell that won’t happen, but he won’t lie. He’s surprised the Seeker hasn’t picked up on the dark aura haunting the Inquisitor, but then again, people see what they want to believe. None of them wants her to die. None of them wants to see the doom that lies ahead. They will defeat Corypheus sure, but at what cost?

The Inquisitor knows the price and she’s still here, still leading them to a future without her. And she may try to hide her pain from all of them, but that doesn’t mean she should have to.

 With that, a plan springs in his mind.

 

* * *

 

Dorian finds Varric’s latest behavior quite odd.

“Just what, pray tell,” The mage begins, leaning against one of the bookshelves in the library, staring as Varric frantically flips through book after book, “are you doing?” Dorian expects a witty remark. Something sarcastic perhaps or a jab about how uneducated mages from Tevinter are.

The last thing he expects is, “She’s going to die.”

Any reply Dorian had planned immediately disappears from his mind. He takes a step closer to the writer, a grimace on his lips because he would like to believe that he doesn’t know who the “she” is.

But he knows. Andraste help him, he knows.

“Varric,” He growls, “Explain.”

Varric pushes aside the latest book and sighs, “The Inquisitor believes she’s going to die. I thought, maybe if I could show her a story where a hero lived that she might . . .”

_Every good story ends with the hero dying._

Dorian vaguely remembers Varric saying those words week ago in the tavern. At the time, Cassandra had been demanding an explanation for Varric’s choice of killing off her beloved knight-commander in Varric’s latest book. But the Inquisitor had been there and for a brief second, Dorian had caught a flash of grief in those sparkling eyes.

Cursing in his native tongue, Dorian storms out of the library. Of course, that would explain her odd behavior recently. The way she would easily get lost in her thoughts, her recklessness out in the field—she’d taken blows for Bull just last week and shrugged it off, as if her life wasn’t worth any more than theirs, as if she had accepted the inevitable—and the way she’d been pulling away from him.

The Inquisitor was his closest friend. If Dorian is being honest, she’d probably been his only true friend. In Tevinter, he’d been wearing a mask, playing the part of a dutiful son. Well, failing miserably at it, but he’d still had his family. He had his country. But, he’d given it all up to come to the South. Here, in the Inquisition, he could be who he wanted and love who he wanted and—

“Kadan?”

The rough voice stops him in his tracks. Dorian turns around to see Bull, his amatus’ brows furrowed in confusion. Dorian almost wants to laugh. Bull may deny it, but he was the biggest worrier in the group. He treated his Chargers like his children. He believed himself to be their protector—the guy that would rush to the front of the line in order to keep those behind him safe.

Of course, in his stupor, Dorian would seek him out. There is something instinctive about it. Dorian lets out a shaky breath and notices the Chargers standing on the field, eyeing their commander oddly.

“I need to speak with you.” Dorian whispers.

Bull nods, then faces his men, “Keep practicing. I’ll be back.”

Krem calls out, “You got it, Chief!”

Dorian leads Bull to the back garden, the only secluded place in Skyhold. Among the flowers and the trees, one could almost pretend like the world wasn’t in danger of being destroyed.

“It’s the Inquisitor,” Dorian finally grounds out, “Bull, have you noticed something odd about her?”

“The Boss?” Bull mumbles, “I mean, she’s been a bit quiet. But she got hurt last week so—”

“She’s convinced she’ll die.” Dorian wishes he could’ve cushioned the blow somehow, but Bull simply folds his arms across his chest, processing the information.

“She’s been a bit reckless,” Bull admits softly, “But I never thought—”

Dorian sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t know if she’s aware of it, but Varric seems convinced that she’s only waiting for the inevitable.”

Bull lets out a shaky breath, “Fuck.”

“I . . .” Dorian’s voice falters, as his brow furrows. He doesn’t know how to handle this. There had been close calls, of course, moments when he’d watch Evelyn go down on the battlefield with wounds so gruesome that Dorian feared that he would lose her. But, now, to know that she expected to die, that she might even be helping it along—

Strong arms envelop him, pulling him close to Bull’s chest. Despite the image he projected, the Iron Bull was one of the most soft-hearted beings Dorian had ever come in contact with. It constantly amazed Dorian just how sensitive and kind Bull was, how he could soothe the pain in Dorian’s heart with just a touch of his hands or a small smile.

“We’ll figure it out, kadan,” Bull promises, “We’ll keep her safe.”

Dorian lets himself believe that.

 

* * *

 

“Evie?” Cullen calls softly, watching his lover’s eyes snap back into reality at the sound of her pet name. She rewards him with a dazzling grin, though he notices how her eyes remain dark and clouded with doubts that she had yet to voice.

He pulls her to his side, letting her head rest on his shoulder as they lie in his bed, the covers tucked around them. Their relationship is somewhat new, but Cullen can’t help but feel like he’s been searching for this his whole life, this brilliant woman who fell out the Fade, a Herald of Andraste herself.

“Do you ever wonder what happens,” Her voice is soft, a tone of worry underlying her words, “after?”

“After?” He echoes quietly.

“After Corypheus, I mean.”

He does think of it, of course. More and more now that he has her at his side. He thinks of a life free from withdrawals, free from battles and strife, with her at his side as his wife and perhaps a child or two with twinkling eyes like hers. A home, out in the countryside somewhere, where they could welcome old friends and have quiet dinners together.

“Do you?” He asks instead, noting the grimace on her lips as she burrows into his side, her hands grasping his, like he could disappear at any second.

“Yes,” She breathes, “And that’s what scares me.”

There’s a lot they don’t talk about. She risks her life every time she ventures out from Skyhold, away from his protection. And yes, he knows she’s perfectly capable of defending herself, but love does funny things. It makes him worry more than he should, makes each agonizing day that passes without a letter drag on and on. Having her here, by his side, he can breathe easier. But tomorrow, she will be gone once more, to the Storm Coast, off to close some rifts and see if they can get a lead on the Red Templars. Tomorrow, he will bid her well with a kiss and a stern, “be careful” and watch until she disappears down the road.

“Cullen,” She starts again, “If I don’t—”

He kisses her, deeply, passionately, trying to drive that thought that plagues his nightmares away. He’s dreamed of her broken body returning him, of him gripping her corpse and crying out her name to an uncaring sky. He refuses to accept a world without her. Maybe that makes him weak, but now that she is in his life, he knows that she is his other half. Without her, he’d be nothing.

“Please,” He gasps as he pulls away from her, “Don’t speak of such things.”

“Cullen.” She whispers, placing a warm hand on his cheek.

“You will come back.”

He tries not to notice her hesitation before she answers, “I will.”

 

* * *

 

Dorian hates the Storm Coast. Out of all the places he’s encountered in the South, the Storm Coast might be the worst of the worst. Besides being perpetually damp and cold, the Red Templars they keep encountering seem even more angry than usual and there have been a couple of close calls.

“No complaints, Dorian?” Evelyn teases, coming to stand by him on the cliffside.

“My dear Evelyn,” He draws out the phrase, knowing she loves it when he does, “This is the worst that the South has to offer.”

“That so, kadan?” Bull murmurs, as he scans the forest behind them, waiting to see if any other Red Templars will reveal themselves.

“Yeah, Sparkler,” Varric chuckles, “I seem to remember you saying the same thing about the Fallow Mire.”

Dorian folds his arms across his chest and glares, “Well, considering how uncivilized the South is, it’s no wonder that everything it has to offer is severely lacking in charm.”

Evelyn actually laughs at that and the sound relieves Dorian. It’s been much too long since she laughed. Her mood seems to have picked up with their latest trip out of Skyhold, though Dorian fears that this change will not last long. He and Bull have been trying to figure out how best to approach the issue with her—Bull advocating they’d go with the Qunari method of hitting Evelyn hard with a stick, something that Dorian promptly vetoed—but now he wonders if their concern might’ve been unfounded. Maybe she’d just been sad for a few days and now she managed to overcome it.

“And what does our Inquisitor think of the South?” Varric questions and Evelyn makes a show of deliberating on what to say.

“Well, Red Templars aside, I think—”

The arrow appears out of seemingly thin air. But, luckily, Evelyn has quick reflexes and is able to deflect the arrow aside. 

“There!” Evelyn screams and immediately the group turns to see more Red Templars advancing toward them.

“Shit,” Bull curses, holding aloft his axe, “Where the fuck do these guys keeping coming from?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Tiny.” Varric chimes in, firing off a few shots.

“Well,” Evelyn shoots off lighting, shocking a few of the smaller Templars, “Let’s end this and we can find their source.”

They easily fall into a rhythm in battle. Bull charges forth, Dorian with him, the lovers easily stopping some of the bigger Templars while Evelyn and Varric fall back to help flank them. Really, the battle isn’t even that challenging, but before Bull knows it, Dorian is shouting, “Evelyn!”

He yanks his axe out of a dead Templar and sees what has alarmed Dorian—Evelyn holding her own against a knight, using her staff to block the quick swings of his sword, both dangerously moving toward the edge of the cliff. She must be out of mana, Bull realizes with a dim horror and with Varric surrounded, she has no one to help her.

“Dorian, give me an opening!” Bull roars, charging toward the cliffside, ready to defend his boss to the bitter end. Magic flares around him as Templars are shoved out of his way. He pushes himself as fast as he can, ignoring the flare of pain with his bad knee. All that matters is getting to Evelyn and keeping her safe before—

She meets his gaze for a brief moment and his stomach churns. He knows that look, one of resignation. One of goodbye. She uses her staff for leverage, pushing herself and the Templar off of the cliffside and falling down to the ocean below.

“Inquisitor!” Varric shouts, but Bull doesn’t have time to process it because he knows that Evelyn can’t swim. She’d joked about it once, saying her mother had been terrified of the water and that the Circle never allowed her to go visit the ocean so, what would she need of swimming?

Bull doesn’t hesitate, tossing his axe on the ground as he follows her off the cliffside. His body burns as it hits the water, but as he comes up to the surface, he doesn’t see the templar or Evelyn. Sucking in air, he dives back under the water. The waves are churning, and the current is strong, but he finally finds her, eyes shut, golden hair swirling around her. There’s no sign of the Templar, thank fuck for that, maybe the ocean did them a favor, and as he pulls Evelyn to the surface, he tries not to let panic overwhelm him when she remains limp in his arms.

“Amatus!” Dorian calls, standing on the beach and Bull doesn’t have time to wonder how he managed to get down there so quickly, but he follows his lover’s voice and fights against the current as he drags them both to the shore. It feels like a small eternity, but suddenly, his legs hit the sand and Dorian is there, taking Evelyn from his grasp and laying her out on the beach.

“Tiny, you good?” Varric questions, pulling Bull back, his eyes scanning over the Qunari.

“Fine.” Bull coughs, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat.

“Enough of this, Evelyn,” Dorian chides, the fear bleeding into his voice as he hits Evelyn’s back, trying to get her to breathe once more, to get her lungs to expel the water. The Inquisitor is still so deathly still, her lungs still not expanding, “You can sleep later, after you’ve shown us that you won’t a little bit of water stop you.” Magic flares in his hands and he presses them to the center of her chest, and then finally, thankfully, Evelyn coughs, water spilling out of her lips. Her eyes fly open, clouded and unfocused, her body darting upwards.

“Boss, easy,” Bull places a hand on her shoulder, trying to ground her, “We’ve got you. Stay still.”

She does so, her eyes fluttering shut once more.

“Kadan?”

“She’s fine, amatus,” Dorian assures him, shrugging back, catching his own breath, “Drowning just tends to take a lot out of a person.”

Varric scans the shore, checking for any sign of templars. He glances back, nodding at Bull and Dorian, “We should get moving back to camp before anyone else shows up.”

Bull easily lifts Evelyn up into his arms, cradling the Inquisitor, “Varric’s right. How far is the nearest camp?”

“Not too far, I believe.” Dorian points ahead, further past the shore, “And then we can send some soldiers to come and retrieve our weapons.”

Bull nods and starts to walk.

* * *

 


	2. Fear

            “How are you doing, amatus?” The tent flap closes behind him as Dorian enters their shared space.

            “Fine.” His tone is clipped, more so than he intended. Hissrad would’ve never jumped off that cliff. He wouldn’t be so concerned now, afraid that the Inquisitor in her tent will never wake up.

            “You were in the water too,” Dorian needlessly points out, placing a hand on Bull’s shoulder, “I’d feel better if you would let the healer check you over as well.”

            “How is she?”

            Dorian sighs as he takes a seat next to his lover, “Doing a fine impression of Sleeping Beauty. She has a mild fever though.” At Bull’s grimace, Dorian adds, “It’s very mild though. Given how cold the water is, it’s no surprise. Varric has sent a crow off to our dashing commander informing him of our plans to start our return to Skyhold tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if he meets us halfway.”  

            Bull sighs, knowing that Cullen would meet them here on the Storm Coast tonight if he could manage it.

            “Shit, Dorian.”

            “I don’t see why you’re fretting so much, amatus,” Dorian whispers, pressing a kiss to Bull’s cheek, “Everything will be fine.”

            “She deliberately threw herself off a cliff.”

            Dorian freezes, “What?”

            “The look she gave me—I’ve seen that look before, Dorian, before soldiers turned their swords on themselves.” The more Bull recalls the desperation and relief in her eyes, the more the worry threatens to consume him.

            Dorian shook his head, grimacing, “She was being attacked. It was an accident—”

            “No,” Bull insists, “She figured if the Templar couldn’t kill her, the water would. She can’t swim. You know that.”

            Dorian shakes his head, swearing softly, “Kaffas. Then, Varric’s suspicions are well founded. Evelyn really is trying to—” His voice breaks off suddenly, tears sparkling in his eyes.

            “It’s okay, kadan,” Bull reassures, pulling Dorian into his grasp, “One thing at a time. Once the Boss is up, we’ll deal with it.”

            “Just like that?” Dorian challenges, though the aggression isn’t in his voice, just despair.

            “Just like that.” Bull repeats, kissing Dorian’s fears away.

 

* * *

 

            “We still have work to do.” Evelyn’s chest burns as she forces herself to sit up, but she will not be confined to this bed any longer, despite the healer’s protests.

            “But Your Worship, please, you have a fever and—” The healer insists, but Evelyn narrows her gaze, scaring the woman out of the tent.

            With a sigh, Evelyn drags herself out of bed and pulls on her coat, shivering a bit as the cold air hits her. When she opened her eyes, she’d been surprised to see that she was in one piece. Going over the cliff, she’d been sure—

            It’s selfish, really. She’s the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. She has to live to defeat Corypheus. She has to live as a symbol of hope for the others. There are so many reasons for her to go on that it surprises her when the idea of dying seems more appealing than getting up to seal rifts and defeat demons.

            “Stop, Evie,” She chides herself, wincing at the pain flaring in her chest, though for the life of her, she doesn’t know why it hurts. Maybe the shock of the fall? Whatever the reason, she’s alive and she’d had her moment and it’s time for her to go back to doing her duty of saving the world.

            “Boss?” Bull’s muffled voice from outside the tent startles her, “I’m coming in.”

            Bull enters without another word, Dorian trailing behind him.

            “Bull. Dorian,” She waits for either of them to say something, but when they remain silent, Evelyn continues, “Is everything okay?”

            Dorian frowns, “Evie, are you well?”

            “Fine.”

            “Boss,” Bull interjects with a sigh, “We need to talk about what you did.”

            Evelyn stiffens, but holds her gaze steady, “It was an accident—”

            But Bull shrugs, “Boss. Ben-Hassrath, remember?”

            She knows she should just admit the truth, that she’s overwhelmed and scared—scared of dying, knowing that the fate of the world rests on her shoulders and at the end, despite what she may want, she might die anyways. It’s selfish though, selfish of her to want a way out. She’s the Herald, she’s the Inquisitor and she must protect everyone. She is the one with the mark and for better or worse, that means she must live, even while so many around her die in her name.

            “Evie,” Dorian sits on the edge of her bed, the Tevinter mage more serious than she’s ever seen him, all traces of joking and smirking gone from his expression, “Bull seems to think that you threw yourself off the cliff, knowing full well that you would drown in the ocean below.”

            “I—” But the words die in her throat. She wants to deny everything, but she’s tired of the lies and rejecting everything.

            “Boss,” Bull rests a warm hand on her shoulder, “It’s okay.”

            Tears prick at her eyes, but she bites her lip, trying to stop it. She can’t be weak. She must be strong, always strong, always the symbol of the Herald that people envision her to be. If she’s anything less, then she doesn’t deserve to be the Inquisitor.

            “I can’t do this.” She tries to push herself off the bed, but the world around her spins. She winces and then suddenly, Dorian is there, easing her back down on the bed.

            “Bull, a cold cloth, if you please.”

            Bull nods and lumbers outside, the tent flap closing behind him.

            “Dorian,” Evelyn whispers, her voice ragged with unvoiced emotion, “I’m sorry.”

            Dorian smiles softly, running a hand through her hair, “You don’t need to apologize. Rest now.”

            Bull returns and hands the cloth to his lover. He grimaces as he takes in Evelyn’s feverish appearance. He rests his hand on her forehead and Evelyn leans into his cool touch, wishing for some respite from the heat that rages through her body.

            “S’okay, Boss,” Bull soothes, his voice in a low timbre, “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

            And despite how much she wants to protest, how much she wants to scream that she is fine, that she has everything under control, she lets herself give into the fatigue and drifts away to sleep.

 

* * *

 

            “Commander, sir?”

            Cullen puts down the battle plans before him and looks up. A soldier stands in the doorway and the Commander holds out his hand to take the parchment. The soldier quickly hands over the paper and then leaves, the door shutting behind him. Taking a quicker look at the latest reports, Cullen allows his gaze to drift over to the newly delivered parchment. He recognizes the distinct handwriting as Varric’s and while he was expecting a note for Evie, he figures she must be busy. He opens the letter and quickly scans it.  

            _Curly, there’s been a situation. The Inquisitor is ill. We’re concerned about her. If you’re able, please come and meet us. She needs you, Cullen._

            His heart drops into his stomach and all the air rushes out of his lungs. Varric’s note is cryptic, much too cryptic and all Cullen wants to do is find the nearest horse and take off. But he must get his affairs in order first. He can’t let fear dictate his thoughts, no matter how much he worries for Evelyn.

            He will go to her. Tonight.

            But first, he must inform Josephine.

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter will be posted soon!


End file.
